


Brunch

by SlothSpaghetti



Series: Sleepless In Stark Towers [15]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Catholic Guilt, Catholicism, Cyber Bullying, Developing Relationship, Eating Disorders, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light Dom/sub, Social Media, Tabloids, fatphobia, open communication, poor body image, self hate, the media is not nice, unhealthy thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27557539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlothSpaghetti/pseuds/SlothSpaghetti
Summary: Your caffeine addiction demands attention. Tony wants to talk.
Relationships: Tony Stark/OFC, Tony Stark/Reader
Series: Sleepless In Stark Towers [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1965925
Comments: 10
Kudos: 90





	1. Tony's PoV

**Author's Note:**

> Please make sure you read the tags for this one, it's a bit heavy. Your media consumption is your own.
> 
> Please take care of yourself peeps.

“When was the last time you ate?” 

The blanket monster formerly known as Babygirl poured a third espresso over the ice in your Stark cup. We had finally untangled ourselves from the sheets after the nagging headaches from lack of caffeine became too much. I couldn’t keep my hands off you. As you made your iced coffee, I kept one arm firmly anchored around your back, my fingers reaching for the pocket in front of your sweatshirt while I pressed into your side.

I took a sip of my coffee, waiting for you to answer. It had definitely been at least 12 hours. I had also definitely heard your stomach growl at least three times since I got back, despite saying you weren't hungry. Your bright red fingernails drummed against the marble countertop. 

“Yesterday breakfast?” You shrugged and topped off your coffee with chocolate milk. 

“Do you feel okay? You weren’t hungry last night.”

“I feel great,” you turned to face me, a bright smile not quite reaching your eyes. 

“You should eat something, Babygirl,” I kissed your forehead. 

I didn't like that response one bit. This destructive path you were on was something I couldn't understand. Working so hard you forgot to eat? Yeah that I could understand, I did that like once a week. But clearly choosing not to eat, for God knows why, rubbed me the wrong way. There was a slight shake in your hand when you spun the lid onto your cup.

It looked like you were about to say something, but Clint crashed down out of the vents in the living room. You jumped and grabbed my hand. The smallest yelp caught in the back of your throat. 

“You guys making brunch?”

“Were you just waiting for someone to come out and make food for you?” I frowned at him. 

“I was on brunch duty, Nat will want some too.”

Birdbrain walked over to the island and sat down on a barstool before looking at both of us, an expectant look on his face. 

“Do I look like a goddamn waiter?” 

I didn’t want to fucking deal with him right now. The kitchen in the penthouse was about to become my only kitchen if this what it was going to be like when we were trying to have our morning coffee. 

“I’ll make breakfast," you gave him a half-hearted smile. "Petey and MJ will be up soon and I’m sure the moment they smell food the super soldiers will emerge from their man cave.”

You shuffled over to the fridge still wrapped in the blanket and started pulling any food you deemed breakfast appropriate - eggs, cheese, slices of deli meats, tomatoes, butter, half an avocado, bell peppers, my blueberries -

“Those are mine,” I snatched the punnet away before Clint puts his grubby vent hands on them. 

“It’s all yours Tony, but it doesn’t mean you can’t share,” you hummed, reaching up to open another cupboard, but unable to do much more. “Can you please get out the onions and potatoes?”

I didn’t even know we had those. How long has there been a cupboard for these in the kitchen? How long had they even been in there? What else was in that cupboard?

My empty mug was placed next to the coffee machine before I pulled down the sacks. You selected the number of vegetables you wanted, then handed the bags back to me. Nat strolled in and sat next to Clint, equally happy to just watch a meal made for them. 

I was no better. After you had everything within reach, I made another cup of coffee and sat down next to her. The three of us watched you prepare a meal easily big enough for 15 people. I couldn't figure out why you'd agreed to cook. Like some kind of weird way to torture yourself when you were clearly hungry and refusing to admit it to me.

You carefully folded up the blanket and gave it to me to hold on to before rolling up your sleeve to get to work. Chopping, whisking, and sizzling sounds filled the kitchen. Soon the warm smell of a fresh homestyle meal enveloped us. 

The cooking sounds turned into white noise, a background clattering that my brain blurred into a subtle hum so I could think about other things. 

I needed to get Nat’s new gloves to her so she could test them in the field. Clint had also asked about a new style of arrows he wanted to develop, something about them releasing tear gas on impact. Rhodey wanted to compare notes on some adjustments he made to the War Machine suit. Bruce was desperate to have a conversation about Thor and the merits of dating a teammate. 

Let’s not forget Pepper and her list of demands. We needed to pick a location for a new EU headquarters. We also needed to review all the incentives being offered before we picked a Stark Expo location. Marketing wanted to get final approval of a new home heat system campaign that we’d agreed to subsidize for those in need. R&D needed more budget to finish a project that should have been done months ago. A meeting with PR needed to be set to discuss you. 

You. The beautiful fucking unicorn goddess who was standing in front of the stove frying up breakfast for all of the goddamned Avengers right now like it was nothing. You who had been so honest with me, had trusted me with your vulnerability earlier, were now putting on your own suit of iron. You who smiled and blushed when you looked in the mirror after brushing your teeth this morning. The scattering of hickeys on your neck were already starting to turn a lovely shade of purple. I noticed how you’d brush fingers over them now, a smile playing on your lips when you thought Clint and Natasha weren't paying attention.

We should have spent more time on aftercare. Especially after the rollercoaster start we had. Shouldn't have left the penthouse period. There were plenty of things I still wanted to say to you from the security of my bed. I needed you to know just how deep into you I was. Proving that you could trust me with anything was becoming a top priority of mine.

You were something so impossibly pure and I was scared I was corrupting you, slowly ruining your life in some way that would soon come to light. But then I recalled all the shit you've put up with and trudged through day in and day out for so long. Simmering anger sank into my thoughts. The little troll in my chest raising its head at the possibility of starting a fight. How dare people not treat you with the fucking decency you deserve?

You're with me now, and I was going to do whatever it took to protect you, even from yourself. I knew I couldn't just kiss and make everything better. No amount of money thrown at this would make it better.  **_Things_ ** weren’t the way to fix anything. Sex wasn’t going to solve anyone's issues either. But I could use it to my advantage to help you, and maybe me too. 

Before everyone else joined us in the kitchen, I escaped to the lab to make a plan.


	2. Your PoV

Again with the staring. The Black Widow and Hawkeye followed every slice of my knife through bell peppers, every stir of the spatula I used for the frying potatoes, every slurp of my iced coffee. Nothing I did went unnoticed by them. I was so focused on not fucking up, I missed Tony disappear. I tried not to think about why he didn’t want to stay in the kitchen. I didn't really want to be here either.

“Who’s making German fries?” 

A sleepy looking Bucky and chipper looking Steve came into the kitchen. Steve sat down next to Natasha while his ever nosey boyfriend peered over my shoulder.

"God it smells like the 40s," he inhaled deeply. 

"It's just bacon fat," I used the spatula to flip a portion of the potatoes.

"Ya wanna know who cooks like this here? No one. Even with no money and rationing, my ma could make a better dinner than anyone here."

"Watch it, Barnes, or we won't make pancakes for you again," Clint called out. 

"Why would I want pancakes, when she cooks with the good shit?"

"I can never get these as good as my grandma, so I wouldn't risk your pancakes just yet." I frowned at the over browned onions. "I've got everything set up to make omelets for people if you wanna take orders, Bucky."

“God you know what sounds good right now? Salisbury steak with gravy,” Steve sighed, staring off into the distance when I looked at him.

“Chicken and dumplings for your birthday.”

“Potato soup.”

“Beef barley soup.”

“Biscuits and gravy.”

“You act like you can’t make those things,” I made a face at the super soldiers. “I used to eat like that all the time.”

“Hello, it’s omelet time,” Clint rapped his knuckle against the counter. 

So I finished making brunch. Peter and MJ shuffled in eventually, looking only half alive. Bruce and Rhodey also came into the kitchen with just enough time to make an order. Steve and Bucky continued to reminisce about the food they used to eat, talking about penny restaurants, all 57 Heinz products, and Tootsie Pops. Again, you can definitely still buy Tootsie Pops and Tootsie Rolls, and they probably taste pretty similar considering How It’s Made told me that the company claims there is still technically some of the first sweet in every piece. The super soldiers seemed to be living in some kind of bubble about that kind of thing. Surely they could just Google things they missed and see where they can still buy them or make them?

I made Tony's breakfast last, making guesses about what he'd want in an omelet. Spinach and tomato felt like a safe guess along with a side scoop of German fries. I took our plates, my coffee cup, and the box of the blueberries with me to the lab, while the rest of the supers sat down at the large dining table. If they wondered where I was going, Peter could explain the situation to them I'm sure. 

When I entered the lab, precariously balancing our food, I was surprised by the lack of music. From what I knew about Tony if he could always have a soundtrack for his life playing, he would. I'd bet you could name a situation and he would have a song to pair with it. He was in the lab if the half-full, forgotten coffee mug was anything to go by. I perched the plates on the edge of the desk, careful to avoid touching the tablets, remotes, and other techie things littering the metal surface.

It was wrong of me to look. I knew it was rude to look at people's screens without their permission. Tony had even told me to stay mostly clear of this area, but it was wide open. I'd have to yeet my glasses and myself out the window to not see the massive monitors.

The headlines were clear as day. 

**_STARK DATING MYSTERY CHUBBY BUNNY_ **

**_IRON MAN DOING SOME HEAVY LIFTING_ **

**_TONY, YOU CAN DO BETTER_ **

  
  


And so many more were lined up on the screens. The picture from last night was under each of them, Tony's demeanor was that of a man ready to kill. Hard set lines marred his normally relaxed features. His hand possessively squeezed the top of my bare thigh. It's only looking at the image now that I could see his hand covering up my scars. JARVIS, who was still on my shoulder at the time, seemed to have produced some kinda glare to protect my face. You couldn't even tell I was wearing glasses in the picture. Some of the edits of the picture had even put emojis or GIFs over the flare to cover it up. 

Even though most of them assumed and confirmed I was @ThatArtGirl, none of them seemed to guess my age or the fact that I was in college. My fear of posting selfies or pictures of myself doing anything online finally coming in handy. A few of the sites had linked to my body image painting, but that just showed the world I was covered in stretch marks, which could have guessed by looking at me anyway. More of them linked back to his post of my illegal graffiti meltdown, calling me unstable and a PR disaster. They all confirmed something that I already knew. I was unworthy of the genius, billionaire, philanthropist, green energy giant, superhero.

I pulled up Instagram on my phone, grateful that I had decided to turn off notifications. I didn't even bother looking at the red bar, I went to my page and tapped the tagged images tab. Of course, there were now loads of screenshotted headlines there, but I would remove those tags later. I needed to see the picture Tony took last night. 

There we were, curled up on the couch, one of my legs thrown onto his. The blanket tucked around us and the TV barely lighting the image. You couldn't even tell that I was clinging to him like a koala. _I can't believe you've never seen Rocky Horror, what else are you hiding @ThatArtGirl?_ 👀 _Couldn't think of a better way to end the night, well except maybe with some Meatloaf._

Underneath were more comments demanding to know who I was. Crazy fan accounts were trying to start some kind of rumor that I was a new Avenger. There were hateful comments, of course, trying to tell me things I already knew about myself. More concerning were the news outlets trying to find sources close to me for comments.

It had never occurred to me that Nathan could see this. I had unfollowed him, blocked his phone number. He never wanted anyone to know we were together, but would he try anything if he saw I was with Tony? Would he go to the news with details about me? Surely not, since that would out him as the guy in the out of place post on Tony's account. He wouldn't want that bad imagery connected to him, right? 

But he could tell my mom and dad.

"Jay told me you were 'in distress'," Tony entered the lab from a side door. "I was trying to... break those websites so it would show a picture of an alpaca and the headlines would be facts about them, but if I’d been smart I woulda just taken that stupid fucker's camera last night."

I looked at Tony. Why did it sound like he was apologizing? To me??

"I'm sorry," I whispered. 

Sorry for what? Who knew exactly. Everything, probably. There were no other words I could think of that would make sense. My throat dried up and the knots in my stomach twisted even tighter. 

“Hey, hey, hey…”

Warm, strong arms were wrapped around my closed-off form. A hand-rubbed my back in a soothing, loving manner. Kisses were dotted across my hair. 

It was all the exact opposite of how I thought he’d react. There was no smirk, no ‘what did you expect’, no dismissal of my feelings. He just comforted me. Whispered promises and apologies rained down from his lips. My arms eventually came free of their death grip on my shirt and encircled Tony. 

The knowledge that he wasn’t upset with me sank in slowly. More than any of the hate ever could, that brought tears to my eyes. His denial of what I truly was now would only make it more painful when he realized the truth. 

“Made you breakfast.”

I spoke more to the reactor than Tony. The words muddled by my smooshed cheek and his AC/DC shirt. It was probably cold now anyway. 

"Thank you, Sweetheart," he kissed the top of my head again but didn't move to go eat. "Grab your plate and we can eat on the operating table." 

Following an order, I can do, so I did. Since there was no Iron Man suit on the long workbench adjacent to his work station, we ate there. Every bite I took was small and slow, carefully chewed 20 times before I swallowed. Then I would wait until I was sure I was still hungry to take another. It was only eggs, yet I couldn't bring myself to eat more than half. A garbled mess of guilt pricked in my mind.  _ It was rude to not eat all the food set in front of you. You shouldn't waste it. There are starving kids in Africa. But at the same time, what on earth are you thinking, eating so much? It's so unladylike to stuff your gob that way. Boys will find it unattractive. They'll think you're fat and gross.  _

"You are an amazing cook," Tony spoke, mouth full of potato. "Are you finished already?"

I wanted to say no. The hunger was definitely still there. I could easily eat the rest of my plate and then all the blueberries.

"I'm gonna save this other half for later."

It's not a lie. That's my intention. Because as long as there are people here, someone will eat the leftovers unless properly labeled in multiple locations. So someone will probably be eating that omelet half later. It just won't be me.

Tony's body language was easy to read. It was easy to tell when he was stressed with work because of how his shoulders would tense up while his hands would start gesturing like he was arguing with himself. When he was relaxed, the corners of his mouth would release his lips from that firm line he kept them in. His hips would tilt to the side in a casual way. 

Now he seemed to be mixing the two. He leaned forward onto the worktop, trying to look relaxed, but set in his shoulders and tension in his brow told another story. The longer we stared at each other trying to read our minds, the more worried I got.

"I can practically see the smoke comin' outta your ears. What are you thinking about?"

"I don't like that you don't eat," Tony pursed his lips.

"I eat, obviously," I gestured at the all of me. 

The disapproving look Tony gave made me want to reconsider my answer. A long, drawn-out sigh came out of me. Why did we have to talk about this now?

"Food and I have a complicated relationship."

"I got that, Sweetheart."

Tony tossed a handful of blueberries into his mouth. My eyes followed his hand, the way his jaw moved to crush the sweet berries and the muscles in his throat contracted as he swallowed. My stomachs rumbled, displeased with me. Eyebrows were raised in my direction and I dropped my head to the table. 

"I don't like eating in front of people I'm not comfortable with. If I eat too much I feel guilty."

Guilt was an emotion I knew better than any. We were fast friends who were never far apart. Shame enjoyed tagging along as well, always eager to twist my guts into an unrecognizable bundle. I can't remember a time when me and those two were far apart. 

There was a new friend today. Small. Something I never thought I would feel. Unworthy was something I normally felt, but I always felt too big, physically and emotionally. My mind would bloat my existence to an unbearable state until I deflated myself. 

Right now I felt like a useless speck in the universe. Compared to everything, compared to Tony or even Peter, my problems were nothing. A drop in their ocean of world-saving concerns. I didn't want to be a burden. 

"I think the smoke is coming out your ears now, Baby." 

Tony rounded the workbench to wrap his arm around me. 

"My… issues aren't a big deal. I'm really okay," I insisted. 

"Your well-being is a big deal, especially to me."

He pressed a kiss onto my head before nuzzling behind my ear. The tickle of his facial hair caused me to giggle, effectively sweetening the sour mood I put us in. Tony stayed there, coaxing me out of my own head. 

"Come sit with me on the couch, I wanna talk about some things," he pulled me up from the table.

He guided us to the place that was becoming the place we had all serious talks. This couch was like a weird second home for us. More so than even the lab, this piece of furniture was becoming the location where milestones happened. I pulled my knees towards my chest and set my cup in my lap.

"So to start," Tony sat facing me, one of his legs pulled up onto the couch. "I really enjoyed this morning and would like to keep doing that for as long as you want to."

My face heated up at the oddly professional sounding praise, but I nodded. Definitely wanted to have sex again with him. I never really knew sex could be that intense and uplifting. When your mom's version of sex ed started with you having a nice float in the pool together and ended with her saying 'they shove it in and it hurts', you don't have high hopes. And the internet isn't all facts, it's opinions and sometimes fake news. 

"Second, we should have talked about this earlier, like a lot of things, but then I just keep getting distracted when I'm with you and I forget the proper etiquette for this kind of stuff because you're so fucking-"

"Daddy," I smiled at him.

"Right, one, we should establish a safe word. I'm happy to keep using the traffic lights, but we should have one anyway."

"Colts," I told him. It was a word I would never forget and it wasn’t too long. 

"Great, works for me, short and sweet, just like you. Two, I should have told you earlier before genitals got involved, I don't have any STDs and I had a vasectomy in '99."

This time my blush spread all the way to my ear and down my neck. I hadn't even thought of that. But of course, the vivid image, well more like feeling, of his soft cock sliding out of me came flooding back. The initial bit of soreness was quickly followed by a sticky emptiness. He hadn't rushed off to be as far away from me as possible though. He rolled us on our sides, keeping us a sweaty tangle of limbs, and told me how well I did. How proud of me he was and that I was  **_his_ ** good girl. Telling me how beautiful and amazing I was between gentle kisses. I was awash in his praise, basking in the blue morning glow of the arc and the warmth in his words.

"I've got the implant, and was tested when they put it in, so I'm also disease-free."

"We can still use condoms if you want, I don't want you to feel any sort of pressure. It's your choice," he reached his arm across the back of the couch to stroke my heated face. 

I cleared my throat before responding, "I liked the way it felt."

It felt like I was at confession, admitting some great sin to my priest. Even with Tony’s thumb still brushing over my cheek, the memories of religion class on Wednesday nights sprouted on the surface of my mind. The musty smell of heavy curtains and the creak of cheap pleather knee pads always made me feel anxious. Father John’s rancid breath through the ornate metal screen making my nose scrunch up. Pain radiating up my legs as I knelt in front of a giant stone statue of the Virgin Mary, cheap pink plastic beads in my hand, praying my tenth rosary for penance.

“- increasing the Dom/Sub aspect of our relationship."

"What?” I blinked, coming back to the couch. 

“I want to instate a set of rules for us.” 

There it was. So he was ashamed of me, of how being with me was going to affect his public image. My eyes fell to the top of my Stark cup.

“Oh… like not holding hands if we're out in public or something?”

“What?” He gripped my chin, pulling me to meet his gaze. “No, Babygirl, like the opposite of that. I want you to hold my hand anytime you want, especially in public if that makes you feel better. I will never deny you affection.”

Tony emphasized this with a fierce kiss. I sighed into it, always ready for his lips to be on mine, always pliant to his touch. I’d never had alcohol before, but I imagined the melty, warm feeling I got from his lips on mine was just like that. 

When he pulled away, there was a smirk on his lips.

“I mean rules like letting me pick out your clothes when we’re together and sending me good night texts and calling me if you feel destructive.” 

“Would you have rules too?” I asked.

“Well sure, we are in this together.”


End file.
